My company.
My access.
I activated the lobby intercom.
“Mauricio, leave the building.”
He looked directly at the security camera.
“Mariana, stop being ridiculous. We need to talk.”
“We have nothing to discuss.”
“You froze the cards.”
“I protected accounts that belong to me.”
“You ruined my reputation!”
“You tried to spend nearly a million dollars through my company five hours after our divorce.”
Employees stopped walking.
A delivery driver froze in place.
Even the security guards seemed entertained.
Mauricio removed his sunglasses.
A dark bruise was forming near his left eye.
I didn’t ask questions.
Exclusive private clubs tend to have very little patience for people who refuse to pay their bills.
“You planned this,” he snapped.
“No,” I replied. “You planned a celebration you couldn’t afford.”
“You knew I had access to that card.”
“And you knew it wasn’t yours.”
My father walked into my office carrying a folder.
